Sometimes the hardest place to escape from is your own head.
I know that sounds dramatic.
But there are days when I can take one tiny thought, something so insignificant that another person probably wouldn't even notice it, and somehow build an entire case against myself from it.
A message feels slightly different.
Someone seems quieter than usual.
I remember something stupid I said three years ago.
I catch sight of myself in a photograph and don't particularly like what I see.
Or sometimes absolutely nothing happens.
The thought simply appears.
I'm not good enough.
And apparently my brain takes that as an invitation.
I'm boring.
I'm unlikeable.
I'm annoying.
People don't really want me around.
They tolerate me because they have to.
One thought opens the door for another, and before long I have disappeared down one of those rabbit holes where every insecurity I have ever had seems to be waiting for me.
The frightening thing is how convincing it can become.
Because when you hear something often enough in your own voice, you can forget that it is only a thought.
You start believing it is a fact.

When a Thought Becomes a Truth.
There is an enormous difference between saying:
I feel boring today.
and:
I am boring.
Between:
I'm worried that person doesn't like me.
and:
That person doesn't like me.
Between:
I'm feeling insecure.
and:
I'm not good enough.
But inside my own head, those lines can become blurred.
Feelings become evidence.
Fear becomes intuition.
Assumptions become facts.
And because the voice saying these things is mine, I trust it.
After all, surely I know myself better than anybody?
Except perhaps sometimes I don't.
Perhaps sometimes I am the least reliable witness in the room.
Because I am looking at myself through every insecurity, every hurt, every rejection, every embarrassing moment and every experience that has ever made me question my worth.
And then I call the result objective.
I'm only being honest with myself.
But there is a difference between honesty and cruelty.
I am beginning to realise that.

The Room Is Full, and Somehow I Disappear.
This doesn't only happen when I am alone.
In fact, some of the times I feel most trapped inside my own head are when I am surrounded by other people.
A room can be full of conversation and laughter.
Everyone appears relaxed.
They talk as though belonging comes naturally to them.
And I am there too.
Physically, at least.
I smile.
I laugh when everyone else laughs.
I nod.
I join in.
If you were watching me from across the room, you might not notice anything unusual at all.
But inside, I can feel as though I am disappearing.
I wrote some lyrics about this feeling a while ago, and one line describes it better than I think I ever could now:
Taking up space, apologetically.
Because that is exactly what it can feel like.
As though everybody else has a natural right to occupy the room while I somehow need to justify mine.

Performing Normal.
Sometimes I wonder whether anybody can see the difference between the person sitting there and everything happening underneath.
Because while a conversation is happening around me, another one is happening inside me.
Am I being too quiet?
Should I say something?
That sounded stupid.
Why did I say that?
Am I talking too much now?
Do they actually want me here?
And suddenly I am no longer experiencing the moment.
I am watching myself experience it.
Monitoring.
Measuring.
Checking.
Judging.
I become both the person in the room and the person standing outside myself assessing whether I am doing a good enough job of being there.
It is exhausting.
And the cruel irony is that the more I worry about seeming awkward, the more awkward I feel.
The more I worry about being quiet, the harder it becomes to speak.
The more I worry that I don't belong, the further away from everyone I feel.
Until I can be surrounded by people and somehow feel completely alone.

Being Tolerated Rather Than Wanted.
One of the thoughts I struggle with most is the idea that perhaps people don't genuinely want me around.
Maybe they just tolerate me.
Perhaps I am invited because it would be rude not to invite me.
Perhaps someone talks to me because they feel they should.
Perhaps the people who love me do so because, somehow, they have to.
That thought can creep into all sorts of relationships if I allow it.
And once it is there, my brain becomes remarkably inventive at finding proof.
A shorter reply than usual.
Someone looking distracted.
A conversation happening that doesn't involve me.
A joke that falls flat.
Someone else seeming funnier, brighter, more confident or more interesting.
None of those things actually prove anything.
But insecurity doesn't require much evidence.
It fills in the missing pieces itself.
And almost always with the worst possible explanation.

I Measure My Worth in Broken Maths.
I think that is exactly what happens.
I add up everything I think is wrong with me and subtract it from everything good.
Except the calculation was never fair.
The awkward thing I said counts.
The lovely conversation I had somehow doesn't.
The person who seemed distracted counts.
The person who deliberately came over to speak to me doesn't.
The time I felt left out becomes evidence.
The countless times I was included become invisible.
Every perceived flaw gets entered into the equation while anything that contradicts it is dismissed as luck, politeness or obligation.
Then I look at the answer and say:
See? I knew it.
That isn't mathematics.
That is fear holding the calculator.

The Cruellest Voice in the Room Can Be Your Own.
Something else bothers me when I really think about all this.
I would never speak to somebody I love the way I sometimes speak to myself.
If someone I cared about told me they thought they were boring, I wouldn't agree with them.
If they said nobody really wanted them around, I wouldn't start producing evidence to prove it.
If they made a mistake, I wouldn't use it to define their entire personality.
If they were quiet at a gathering, I wouldn't decide they had failed socially.
I would probably tell them they were being far too hard on themselves.
Yet inside my own head, apparently none of those rules apply.
I can be absolutely bloody brutal.
And because nobody else can hear it, nobody interrupts.
Nobody says:
Hang on. That's not fair.
So perhaps I need to learn to say it myself.

Mind Reading Without Realising It.
I also have a terrible habit of deciding what other people are thinking.
They're bored of me.
I've annoyed them.
They wish I hadn't come.
They prefer everyone else.
But the truth is, unless someone actually tells me, I don't know.
I am guessing.
And when I am already feeling vulnerable, my guesses aren't exactly generous.
Someone could be tired.
Worried.
Distracted.
Thinking about work.
Feeling uncomfortable themselves.
Wondering what to say next.
Or simply staring into space thinking about what they're having for dinner.
Yet somehow I can turn their facial expression into a detailed review of my personality.
It would almost be impressive if it wasn't so destructive.

And Then Everyone Goes Home.
Sometimes the gathering itself isn't even the worst part.
It is afterwards.
The front door closes.
The noise disappears.
And my brain decides it is time for the post-match analysis.
I replay conversations.
I remember things I said.
I wonder whether I talked too much.
Or too little.
I analyse somebody's reaction.
I wonder whether I embarrassed myself.
Something that was probably a perfectly ordinary evening can become something completely different once I have taken it apart.
I can almost rewrite the memory.
And the strangest part is that the other people involved have probably gone home, put the kettle on, changed into their pyjamas and haven't given the conversation another thought.
Meanwhile, I am conducting a full investigation.

When the Bully Lives Inside Your Head.
We are often told to protect our mental wellbeing by distancing ourselves from people who constantly criticise us, belittle us or make us feel worthless.
But what happens when the person doing it is you?
You can't block your own number.
You can't unfollow your own brain.
You can't pack a suitcase and move out of your own head.
We live there.
Every day.
Which is why the way we speak to ourselves matters so much.
Because unhealthy thoughts don't always stay as thoughts.
They begin influencing how we behave.
If I believe I am unwanted, I may stop accepting invitations.
If I believe I am boring, I may stop speaking.
If I believe I am a burden, I may stop asking for help.
If I believe people only tolerate me, I may distance myself before they supposedly get the chance to do it first.
And eventually I could accidentally help create the very loneliness I was frightened of.
Not because everybody else rejected me.
Because I rejected myself on their behalf.

Healthy Thinking Doesn't Mean Pretending Everything Is Wonderful.
This is where I think the idea of "positive thinking" can sometimes be misunderstood.
I don't want to stand in front of a mirror telling myself I am fascinating, beautiful, brilliant and adored by everyone.
Firstly, I would feel ridiculous.
Secondly, that isn't really the point.
Healthy thinking doesn't have to be relentlessly positive.
It just needs to be fair.
Instead of:
They don't want me here.
Maybe:
I don't actually know what they're thinking.
Instead of:
I'm boring.
Maybe:
I don't have to entertain people constantly to have value.
Instead of:
Everyone else belongs here more than I do.
Maybe:
I am comparing everything I feel inside myself with what everybody else chooses to show outside.
That feels much more believable to me.
It isn't pretending the insecurity doesn't exist.
It is simply refusing to automatically accept the cruelest explanation.

Feelings Are Real. Conclusions Aren't Always Facts.
I think this might be one of the most important things I am trying to learn.
My feelings are real.
If I feel unwanted, that feeling is real.
If I feel awkward, lonely or inadequate, those feelings deserve to be acknowledged.
But the story I attach to them might not be true.
I can feel unwanted and still be wanted.
I can feel unlikeable and still be loved.
I can feel invisible while somebody else is genuinely pleased I am there.
I can feel that I don't belong without having any evidence that anybody else thinks that.
Perhaps instead of fighting the feeling, I need to question the conclusion.
What do I actually know?
Not what do I fear.
Not what am I assuming.
Not what has my brain decided on everybody else's behalf.
What do I actually know?
Sometimes the answer is surprisingly little.

People Have Choices.
There is something else I am trying to remind myself of.
People have choices.
Adults don't generally have to keep inviting someone into their lives.
They don't have to send the message.
Make the phone call.
Share the joke.
Tell you something personal.
Sit beside you.
Ask how you are.
Include you.
Love you.
Perhaps constantly deciding that people are only tolerating me isn't just unkind to myself.
Perhaps it is slightly unfair to them too.
Because I am effectively telling them that I know their feelings better than they do.
I am dismissing their choices because they don't fit the story I have already written about myself.
I need to stop doing that and believe when somebody chooses to be part of my life, I should allow their choice to count.

Learning to Take Up Space.
I wish I could finish this by saying I have conquered all of this.
I haven't.
I still disappear inside my own head.
I still overanalyse.
I still wonder whether I am too much and somehow not enough at exactly the same time.
I still have moments when I feel like the person nobody would choose.
But I am becoming more aware of the voice.
And perhaps awareness is where change begins.
Because now, occasionally, I catch it.
They don't like you.
Do I actually know that?
You're boring.
According to whom?
You're in the way.
Has anybody actually said that?
You shouldn't be here.
Why not?
And perhaps that is how healthier thinking begins.
Not with some enormous transformation.
Just a tiny interruption.
A moment between the thought arriving and me believing it.
A small voice saying:
Hang on.
Maybe that's not true.

Perhaps I Have Been Asking the Wrong Question.
For too long, I think I have entered rooms wondering:
Am I good enough to be here?
Perhaps I don't need to ask that question anymore.
Perhaps friendship and love aren't auditions.
Perhaps I don't need to perform well enough to earn another invitation.
Perhaps I can be funny sometimes and quiet at others.
Interesting one day and completely bloody boring the next.
Perhaps I can say the wrong thing, tell a rubbish story, feel awkward, not know what to say and still be worthy of love and friendship.
Perhaps being human was always supposed to look a little messy.
And perhaps the people who care about me aren't sitting with invisible scorecards marking my performance.
The only person doing that...
is me.
So maybe it is time I put the scorecard down.
I wrote in those lyrics that I felt like the thing nobody chose.
And when I am deep inside my own head, that can genuinely feel true.
But perhaps I have spent so much time searching for evidence that I am unwanted that I haven't noticed all the quiet ways I have already been chosen.
And maybe there is one more person who needs to choose me.
Me.
Not because I suddenly think I am perfect.
Not because every insecurity has vanished.
But because I have to live inside this head for the rest of my life.
And I would quite like it to become a kinder place to live.
So the next time I am sitting in a crowded room and feel myself beginning to disappear, I hope I can remember:
I don't have to perform my right to be there.
I don't have to calculate my worth.
I don't have to apologise for every breath, every word or every inch of space I occupy.
I don't have to decide what everybody else thinks of me.
I am allowed to be there.
I am allowed to be quiet.
I am allowed to be imperfect.
I am allowed to belong.
And maybe one day I will walk into a room without wondering whether I deserve the space I occupy.
Maybe I will simply take it.
Not loudly.
Not selfishly.
Not arrogantly.
Just without apologising.
And perhaps that will be enough.
Until next time,
Toodle pip,
Lainey.

Intwined — 
Because every life has a story worth telling.

🌼🌼🌼